


Les ChristMis Story

by theoreticallychaotic



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Humor, Original Character(s), Parody, TAC cast, This is what happens when I watch TAC and Call the Midwife back to back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoreticallychaotic/pseuds/theoreticallychaotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas - Les Mis style. </p>
<p>This is a little something I wrote at the beginning of the year and have been waiting to post and spread a little Christmas fluff and cheer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les ChristMis Story

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the station was still, having seen much rioting, chaos and general convictly behaviour in the hours prior. In addition, Inspector Javert was not in the best of humours; his ill mood had first been invoked by the local gamins constructing snowmen that depicted what they said was his likeness – all sported scowls, eyes narrowed in anger and raised nightsticks. On arriving at the station he had been horrified to find the seasonal frivolity had spread to his colleagues: decorative chains made from his precious paperwork draped from the ceiling, one of his subordinates crept up behind him and replaced his plain hair ribbon for something garishly glittery, and his superior, having taken a festive break from his senses, freed the inmates on the grounds of goodwill. No, Javert was not in a good mood!

He was alone now, save for the mouse that was known to forage freely late at night for discarded scraps. 

“Damn that Thenardier!” Javert hissed as he contemplated the mountain of paperwork that had formed on his desk.

“Merry Christmas!” cheered a cheery voice.

Javert was on his feet in an instant, his nightstick held aloft, and ready to confront the harbinger of merriment who dared to disturb him. On spying his unexpected visitor, Javert slowly lowered his weapon, its leather strap still hooped around his wrist.

“Valjean!” the Inspector growled in a practised manner, “What in the name of the Lord are you playing at?”

“We’re going carolling” Valjean, swathed in a dark greatcoat and a hat atop his head, explained as he swept his huge hand in the direction of Marius and Cosette. “We wondered if you’d care to join us.”

“And what of this paperwork?” Javert’s own large hand hit the desk with a crack. “No doubt you’ve heard of Thenardier illegally brewing mulled ale. I dare say you’ve probably sampled it yourself.”

“Well, it is Christmas” Valjean’s expression was soft as he tried to placate the irritated Inspector.

Javert’s glass-blue eyes seemed even icier when he hissed his words: “I am the law, 24601, and the law does not stop for Christmas. Nor do I take delight in singing Christmas ditties for halfwits.”

Javert took two lengthy strides towards Valjean before he proceeded to escort the trio to the door. As Marius stepped into the chill night air he collided with and almost toppled over, of all things, a sheep. 

“I did not see you there, forgive me” He apologised meekly; a hand held to his trembling lips.

Cosette settled a comforting hand on Marius’ shoulder as the quartet contemplated the herd that had gathered at the threshold of the station, and to the left, a young woman, with her curved figure draped in a blue calico smock and wound in a threadbare shawl, looking back at them.

“I do not recall ever seeing you before, Madame. You are new around here, no?” Valjean asked kindly.

“How romantic!” Javert’s lips snaked into a smirk.

The young woman, blonde hair billowing in the cold winter wind, shuffled forward into the low gaslight flooding from inside the station. “I’ve come from the mountains where I keep watch over my flock. The weather turned bad so I followed that star yonder in search of shelter.” She extended a shivering hand and pointed, with a delicate finger, to a blazing light in the distance. All four sets of eyes followed.

“That” Javert began, noting the flames flickering high into the air “is no star. The ABC students’ Christmas party appears to have gotten out of hand once again!” He turned back to the blonde; the soft light bringing out the emerald of her eyes. “I suggest you go to the Thendardier’s – they usually have a room or two going spare.”

“I have – they said there was no room at the inn.”

“What about here?” Cosette suggested. “I noticed you have no prisoners tonight.”

“A ridiculous notion.” Javert huffed, his arms folded across his broad chest.

“Oh, please Monsieur.” The woman’s emerald eyes turned sad. “I am so weary. My back aches and I ask only for a bed.”

“It is Christmas, Javert.” Valjean’s reasoned sympathetically.

Javert exhaled his breath slowly, overriding the urge to sigh. “Very well. But only for tonight.”

He stepped aside to allow her entry, followed by several docile sheep. 

“I assume you require no food” Javert noted the unmistakeable roundness of her stomach. “You look like you’ve indulged already.”

“Er, Javert, I don’t think it’s because she’s eaten too much.”

“Thank you, 24601” Javert condescended. “Don’t you have some singing to attend to?”

With that the Inspector turned on his heel and went back inside. His companion had claimed a chair that was usually found on the opposite side of his desk, ready to receive the street-rats and scum that his officers felt were due an introduction to the notorious Inspector Javert. 

“Give that back immediately!” Javert barked as he snatched a half-munched, salvia soaked piece of paper from a rogue sheep that had strayed too close to his work area. “Is it too much to ask you to keep your pets under control?”

“Sorry, Monsieur.”

The woman awkwardly pushed herself to her feet and, with effort, dragged the animal away from the desk and herded the lot of them back outside. She winced audibly as she eased herself onto the chair once more. 

“What’s your name?” Javert asked, pen scratching furiously into the paper, and not looking up. 

“Maria. Maria Thealls.”

“You’re not French?” he noted her lack of accent.

“No, Monsieur,” she shook her head for emphasis. “My father was. I was born in England but we returned here when a census was called. When I grew up I took to helping on the farm, tending sheep. One night, when I was out on the hillside, an Angel came to me-”

“And this Angel is your Fiancé?” Javert was still engrossed in his work; hand speedily scribbling, his brow knotted.

Feeling uncomfortable, Maria got to her feet. “Oh no, Monsieur, it was an _Angel_ – a _real_ Angel. He told me I was special and that he was under the direction of the Holy Spirit.”

There was another wince from Maria, causing her to settle a delicate hand on the curve of her stomach.

Javert’s attention was now diverted: “I suspect Madame that the Holy Spirit to which you refer is the mulled ale that’s corrupting this town, and the Angel no more than a cad. I will make plans for his arrest at once – here in Montreuil-sur-Mer celestial beings answer not only to God but to me as well!”

“But he’s not a real person!” Maria implored, the ache in her back biting harder and turning her gentle manner into snarl. “He’s – OW!” Pain suddenly lanced through her midsection, causing her to steady herself against Javert’s desk. 

“You really shouldn’t over-indulge-”

“It’s not indigestion” Maria cut in, biting back a whimper. “I’m-” 

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

The door flew open, banging against the wall, and a cold blast of air signalled the arrival of a person Javert wasn’t overly delighted to see.

“What now, Valjean?!” Javert drew himself up to his full and impressive height and stormed over to the older man, his boots clicking sharply on the flagstones.

“For you.” Valjean thrust a box, adorned with a neat red ribbon, into Javert’s hands.

“You’re offering me a gift?” the Inspector’s glacial eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Well it is Chris-” Valjean didn’t get to finish his explanation thanks to a shrill cry from Maria. “What’s wrong with her?” Valjean pushed past the policeman and rested his hat on the Inspector’s desk.

“Too much Christmas pudding, I suspect.” Javert answered as he read the tag on his gift – ‘Love 24601’.

“Er, Javert,” Valjean began hesitantly as he shrugged off his greatcoat, “I don’t think it’s too much Christmas pudding.”

“What are you talking about, Valjean?” Javert placed the box on his desk before he made to turn his attention to Valjean. “What the…?!” he exclaimed, the pitch of his voice sliding higher; his eyes widened at the sight of Maria sprawled on the floor, gasping and groaning, as Valjean made feeble attempts to comfort her.

“She’s having a baby, Javert.”

The Inspector was motionless, froze to the spot on which he stood. 

“Now, Javert!” Valjean cried, jolting Javert from his stunned stupor.

“But…she can’t…” Javert’s speech stumbled, “Not here!”

Maria cried out again and gripped Valjean’s hand tight in her own.

“Get down here, Javert!”

Javert was horrified: “I am the law, Valjean,” Javert forced himself to swallow in an effort to regain control of his composure, “And the law does not deliver babies.”

Valjean swept damp tendrils of Maria’s hair clear of her eyes. “And what do you expect me to know - I’m only a convict.” He threw a glance sideways to the man stood over them.

“Stars!” Javert muttered. He joined Valjean and the stricken woman on the floor. “Your jacket” he demanded, holding his hand out to Valjean. 

Javert’s former prisoner obliged and surrendered the garment. Maria cried again, primitive and heart—wrenching. 

“Calm her” Javert ordered bluntly.

Valjean’s expression became pensive for a moment before he tenderly cupped Maria’s sweat-slicked cheek in his weathered hand: “On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…”

Javert raised a thick eyebrow, questioningly, then he took a deep breath at the same time Maria did and slid the hem of her smock up her thighs. He felt his muscles winding tight as he draped Valjean’s jacket over his splayed hands and dipped them beneath Maria.

“Push!” Javert instructed firmly.

Maria managed a small nod as she sucked in a large breath and obeyed the Inspector’s command. “Oh God!” she cried, tears flowing freely from her scrunched eyes.

“Oh God!” Valjean echoed as the woman clenched his fingers in the vice of her hand. 

“Oh God!” Javert followed up; his icy eyes had now melted into a tropical blue as they widened in awe.

For the duration there was much ‘Oh God’-ing from Javert and tortuous cries from Maria; both harsh sounds weaved together and threaded through the more soothing sound of Valjean’s singing. 

“On the eighty-first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…”

“Valjean?” Javert had managed to stop his divinity-orientated exclamations.

“…Eighty loaves of bread…”

“Valjean!” Javert’s voice punctuated through Valjean’s singing. “You can stop now.” He motioned to a fatigued Maria as he carefully nestled the baby in her arms.

Valjean would have sworn the Inspector’s eyes were glazed with tears. He dared not question Javert over it and instead switched his attention to Maria: “What is it?”

“A baby, Valjean.” 

Gone was the trace of emotion Valjean had just been privy to and in its stead was the more sardonic side Valjean was used to seeing of Javert. At that moment the door crashed open again, accompanied by the loud thud of its collision with the wall and another icy blow of air.

“I come bearing gifts, Inspector” It was one of Javert’s officers, who went by the name of Noël. “Bring ‘em in!” Noël called to his colleagues struggling to drag the three men inside. With some effort two other officers shoved their catch through the door. “Allow me to introduce the Three Un-wise Men” Noël announced proudly, hands on his hips and chest puffed out. “Goldie-Picks-The-Locks, Frank-with-no-sense, and Meh. Lads” he turned to the more respectable people still huddled on the floor: “Inspector Javert, Monsieur le Maire, a woman whom I am not familiar with, and a baby.”

The felonious threesome nodded solemn greetings in their direction before Noël escorted them to the cheerless cells that were to be their temporary home…until Javert could find much worse accommodation for them. 

“What i-” Valjean’s question was interrupted by another bang of the door.

“Papa!” Cosette cried, Marius at her heels. “We wondered where you-” She took in the scene in front of her: “What have you all been doing?”

“Performing our own version of the Nativity” Javert replied, wryly. 

“If you please!” Valjean blurted abruptly, “Maria, do you have a name for her?”

“Him.” Marius corrected, earning a confused look from his father-in-law. “It’s a boy.”

Valjean looked back at Maria, “Well?” his voice was low.

“I’m going to call him Dirk.”

“DIRK?!” the group exclaimed in unison.

Maria nodded gleefully: “Yes, Dirk Thealls.”

“With boughs of holly, fa, la, la…la…l-” Marius quickly trailed off at the piercing stares that were boring into him from his family and the Inspector.

“Good evening dear Inspector” the voice of a young boy rang out unexpectedly. “Lovely evening, my dear.” Its owner walked into the room.

“Gavroche?” Marius blinked, puzzled by the appearance of the youngster.

“Gavroche was kind enough to allow us to catch him during a petty crime last week and, with some persuasion from my nightstick, agreed to trial our rehabilitation programme for feckless young gamins like him.” Javert, sat back on his heels, explained to Marius.

“Sure did” Gavroche confirmed cheerily. “Merry Christmas, everyone!”


End file.
